The invitation arrived on cream-colored parchment bearing the imperial seal, its weight somehow conveying the magnitude of what it represented. I examined the elegant script announcing the Slatemark Empire's New Year Grand Ball, knowing this event would mark the beginning of everything I had been preparing for.
Social events in this world followed peculiar traditions that had always struck me as unnecessarily complicated. Despite the age of majority being eighteen, young nobles rarely participated in the social season until twenty or twenty-one, when they finally graduated from their respective academies. The reasoning was practical enough—most attended academy for six years, making regular social obligations impractical during their studies.
